


Manipulating the Board

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Along with a few theories of my own, F/M, Lots of Tumblr theories were involved in the making of this fic, M/M, Panic Attacks, Spoilers through 3x09, This will be jossed by Monday, post The Girl Who Knew Too Much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 03:22:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wasn’t sure what had made him believe that he might actually be allowed a moment to recover and feel at least a little bit safe, but Stiles mourned that naivete bitterly. He wanted it back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Thank you, all of you, for your assistance,” Ms. Blake said, breaking the little bit of peace they were able to find as they each caught their breath. All of them looked at her with varying degrees of irritation or hatred, yet none were fast enough to prevent her from slipping the metal cord around her newest victim’s neck. Still, they came closer, and the cord pressed tighter against pale, pliant skin. 

Fingers slackening their hold, Stiles dropped the baseball bat he had been clutching like a child clutches a favorite plush toy for comfort. The bat’s impact echoed loudly, the jarring quality of the sound mirroring the shock of his companions.

He wasn’t sure what had made him believe that he might actually be allowed a moment to recover and feel at least a little bit safe, but Stiles mourned that naivete bitterly. He wanted it back. The harsh reality that had his throat constricting and his mind racing was too much far too soon after his latest series of brushes with death, combined with the knowledge that somewhere, his father was probably dangling from a ceiling, anxiously awaiting a similarly horrific fate.

“Continue coming closer, and all you will manage to do is prolong his suffering,” his captor announced. “I intended to make this as quick and painless as possible, but if you try to stop me, I will do it by increments.” The worst part was that she said it without malice; it wasn’t a threat, but a fact.

Gasping, Stiles fought for the air to speak. “Guys, it’s okay, alright? It’s okay. Just go,” he sucked in another lungful, though half of it was wasted when he coughed. “Go get my father, okay? Get him to the hospital.”

Ms. Blake clucked. “Have you figured it out then, Stiles? It’s a shame you don’t actually play chess, you know. You’d be quite formidable.”

“What are you talking about?” Derek snarled, still looking for a way to free Stiles.

“The last sacrifice,” Ms. Blake replied. “It was always going to be Stiles.”

“But why?” begged Scott. Why was it always his best friend in the end?

“Because,” Lydia broke in, “Stiles is the one who binds everything together. He’s the ultimate sacrifice.”

“Exactly. Stiles is the warrior, the guardian, the philosopher, the healer, and the virgin, and that last one is important, because it’s the reason I decided to pursue Derek.”

“What?” Scott shook his head, as though he hoped to shake the nonsense of Ms. Blake’s words from his brain. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Ms. Blake smiled at him pityingly. “Oh, but it does. You see, I could have sacrificed Stiles at the beginning. It would have been so simple to take him and his little friend at the same time, but that would have been such a waste of his potential. Still, I needed him to stay a virgin, and for that, I needed to come between him and Derek.” 

Scott clenched his jaw. “I don’t understand.”

“While you were off in summer school or saving up money for your bike and pining for the Argent girl, Stiles was spending all of his time helping Derek track down his missing pack members. There were a lot of late nights at Derek’s loft - the one Stiles helped him find, I should add - spent pouring over maps and any information they could find on the alphas. It’s hard to work so closely with someone without getting a little attached, and Stiles has never been one to do things halfway.” Ms. Blake glanced over at Lydia, asking, “Why do you think Stiles has been so comfortable with you this semester? Has he even once tried to flirt with you?” She smiled. “He hasn’t, has he? You thought it was because he’d finally grown out of his little infatuation, but the truth is, he just fell in love with someone else.”

“Stop,” Stiles said. “You win, okay? You’ve made your point.”

“But you’ve been so brave, Stiles,” she crooned. “You deserve to know the truth before you die.”

“No, you know what I want to know?” he asked, both genuinely curious and desperate to move away from the topic of his travesty of a love life. Having his feelings aired out in front of his friends right before he died was so not on his agenda, regardless of whatever ‘truth’ Ms. Blake wanted to impart. “How have you been watching us all this time? Because you obviously know us a whole lot better than we ever knew you.”

For a moment, Stiles worried that she would not allow herself to be deterred, but then she began to explain. “I started scrying Beacon Hills as soon as Laura Hale was killed. I knew that there would be a new alpha in the area, and when a new alpha rises, Deucalion and his pack are almost certain to follow. I’d been planning their demise for a long time now, and this was the perfect opportunity. Do you have any more questions for me, Stiles?”

He did, actually. Stiles could seize the perfect opportunity, too.

“Just one,” he said softly. “Were you Paige?”

Shock loosened her hold on the wire, and Stiles ducked down and threw himself away. Scott caught him and made sure he was steady before running towards Ms. Blake, who was already fending off Derek. 

For a moment, all Stiles could do was take in great gulps of air, but then he reached down to retrieve his fallen bat. Hefting it, Stiles watched as Ms. Blake kept two strong, healthy werewolves at bay. Her back was to him now, and Stiles figured this might be his only chance. He charged at her, swinging back with all of his strength, and then slammed the bat into the back of her head, stunning her briefly and bringing her straight into the path of Derek’s oncoming claws. 

She pulled away from Derek, turning to face Stiles even as her knees gave out, her pain and confusion plain upon her sweet features.

“Checkmate,” Stiles muttered grimly.

Collapsing onto the cold tarmac, her eyes closed. She sighed for the last time, and the illusion faded away, leaving the face of the Darach behind.


	2. Chapter 2

They stared down at the Darach - Jennifer - _Paige_ \- in silence. Derek supposed he should feel something in response to the death of his first love, but the reality was that he had made peace with her loss years ago, when she became the first in a long line of people he had to say goodbye to far too soon. Beyond that, the twisted, broken creature at his feet was nothing like the girl he once knew. That girl would never have murdered innocents for power, would never have seduced him for her own purposes.

Did he do that to her? Was he the reason Paige had become so calculating, so dark?

A hand came up to rest upon his shoulder. The weight and breadth of it were familiar, and Derek nearly leaned into the hand’s owner.

“Look man, I’m sorry, but I have to find my dad.”

Blinking, Derek turned to look over his shoulder, catching light brown eyes. Sorry? Why was Stiles sorry? None of this was his fault. “It’s fine. I’ll take care of,” his breath caught, and he cleared his throat before finishing, “this. You three should go.”

Squeezing the musculature beneath his fingers, Stiles asked, “You sure?” He sounded torn. Surely the last thing he wanted was to stay and help bury the woman who nearly killed him when his father’s hold on life was so timorous, yet he felt compelled to make the offer regardless. It was probably kinder not to examine the reason for that when they were both barely keeping themselves together.

“I’m sure.”

“Okay, then.” Stiles took his hand away, and Derek suppressed the feeling of loss that tried to take its place even as he turned to face him directly. “Call us when you’re done here, alright? Don’t just disappear.”

He sounded genuinely concerned, which was the only reason Derek managed to speak mildly when he said, “I won’t. Cora’s still not healing, remember?”

Stricken, Stiles’s eyes flew open even wider than normal, the guilt painfully evident. He swallowed audibly and glanced down at his feet before gathering himself and meeting Derek’s eyes again. “Sorry, yeah, of course. As soon as my dad is safe, I’ll start looking into it, alright? Ms. Blake can’t have been the only option. Not really. We’ll figure it out.”

Biting against the impulse to warn Stiles off of making promises he can’t keep, Derek nodded and then forced himself to reiterate that he and the others should leave. If Stiles didn’t listen to him, Derek might just give in to temptation and beg him to stay, and that wouldn’t be fair at all.

Stiles did listen, though. He allowed Lydia to take his hand and lead him away.

Before following them, Scott looked up at Derek solemnly, his hands stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans. “He’s right, you know. We’ll find a way to make her better.”

“Maybe,” Derek muttered at a pitch too low for Stiles and Lydia to catch.

“Have a little faith, man. When has Stiles ever let you down?” With that parting question, Scott jogged to catch up with his friends, leaving Derek with the grim business of burying his former lover’s body and with the discordant symphony of his own mind.


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as Stiles and Lydia reached the jeep, he opened the passenger side door and told her to call Allison and put her on speaker. He walked around to the driver’s side and hopped in, glancing around to see what was taking Scott so long. Seconds after he had the thought, Scott arrived and climbed in the back. Stiles turned the engine on and began to pull out of the hospital parking lot.

Together, they listened to Lydia’s phone as it rang once, twice, a third time, and then stopped. _”Lydia?”_

“Yeah, she’s here,” Stiles assured her. “This is Stiles. We’ve got you on speaker. Listen, your dad knows where the darach’s next victims were supposed to be, right?”

_”Yeah. Why?”_

“She took my dad.” The words tasted like blood and ash in his mouth, leaving a deadened feeling behind, and he swallowed against it.

_”What? Stiles, I’m so sorry. I thought once we found out the darach was going after philosophers that your dad would be safe.”_

Stiles ground his teeth and then sighed. He couldn’t blame what had happened on her - didn’t, actually, although it would have been nice to have a target for all of his fear and anger, now that the true perpetrator was gone. “Me, too. But look, I need you to ask your dad where Ms. Blake would have taken mine.”

 _”Ms. Blake? What do you - Ms. Blake is the dark druid?!”_ The three currently in the jeep winced at the shrill pitch and new volume Allison’s voice reached.

“She was, yeah, but I’m pretty sure she’s dead now.” It would be hard to survive the evisceration of one’s lungs via an alpha werewolf’s claws, even as a dark druid conducting ritual sacrifices. Stiles saw again the damage Derek’s claws had done to Ms. Blake’s torso, and his stomach turned. Maybe she had deserved it. Scratch that - she absolutely deserved it. Knowing that didn’t make her death any less gruesome. Perhaps someday, if life in Beacon Hills never managed to calm down, Stiles would be able to temper his response to all the gore. For now, though, it made him feel small and sick and weak and hopelessly, completely out of his depth.

When neither Stiles nor Allison broached the silence, Lydia huffed. “All right, it’s obvious we’re going to have a lot to talk about once we’re done, but for now, we really need to find the sheriff, and to do that, we need to know where your dad believes Ms. Blake was going to perform the next sacrifice.”

 _”Sorry, yeah. I’ll ask him.”_

There was silence for a while, as though Allison had covered the mic on her phone, and then Chris Argent’s voice resonated within Stiles’s jeep. _”Stiles? I need you to listen to me very carefully...”_

After that, all Stiles could do was follow Chris’s directions, hyperfocused upon the task before him. Later on, he would not remember the roads he took or the buildings he passed. He would vaguely remember feeling as though he was in a tunnel, with only the hunter’s gravely voice and the knowledge that his father should be at the other end to guide him. 

When the jeep pulled into the small parking lot, Stiles parked and jumped out of the jeep on autopilot. He ran up to the industrial-looking building, with its metal facade and utter lack of personality, and kicked at the circle of mountain ash surrounding it. The glass door to the place was locked. Without hesitation, Stiles whipped off his plaid overshirt and wrapped it over his right hand, clenched in the type of fist meant to prevent breakage from a punch. 

Distantly, he heard Scott call out, “Stiles, wait!”

Ignoring anything that might keep him from his dad, he rammed his cloth-covered fist into the glass and did not even pause to swear at the resulting pain, possibly because the overwhelming amount of adrenaline coursing through his system did not even allow the sensation to register. He reached through the newly made opening and unlocked the door. Opening it, he burst through and flew to where his dad sat unconscious, tied to a chair, the dagger still sticking grotesquely from his chest. 

Panicked now, Stiles reached for his dad’s neck with two fingers. 

Nothing. 

He

couldn’t

feel

a 

thing.

 

Someone was screaming - someone Not Lydia - and another voice was trying to rise above it. Stiles didn’t understand any of it, had no idea what was going on aside from the fact that his dad, his hero, his only remaining parent, was dead.

The darkness swarmed over him, and he gratefully let it in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, this fic is not going to end here. I've only ended a fic on a major character death twice, and they were the same scene from two different perspectives. It's not a thing I generally like to do.


	4. Chapter 4

The sheets were scratchy.

That was the first thing Stiles registered upon waking. He tried to open his eyes to understand more, but there was a crusty film over them, and he had the bizarre notion that he did not truly want to open his eyes at all. 

Something had happened. Something bad.

What was it?

Slowly, the antiseptic, stale scent Stiles automatically identified as medical registered, and with that realization came the question: Where was his dad?

Something started beeping loudly and out of control, and Stiles couldn’t catch his breath. His dad couldn’t be with him, because his dad was dead. Cora had been right. All any of them ever did was find the bodies. 

Bile rose up in his throat, and he choked on it, gasping for air that wasn’t there. A panic attack. He was having a panic attack like the one that had taken him after realizing he couldn’t find his dad’s pulse, and if he could not get himself under control, he was going to die.

Would that be better, though? Would that be okay?

If his dad wasn’t here anymore, then why should Stiles stay? What was the point?

This would be better. This would be peaceful. This would be -

A roar, louder than the frenetic beeping of what must be his heart monitor, louder than his corresponding heartbeat pounding away in his ears, louder than the promise of release if he allowed himself to simply fade away, rent the air around Stiles and finally broke through the gritty material gluing his eyes together. He sucked in great lungfulls of air, reminiscent of his reaction to escaping Ms. Blake’s attempt at strangulation, and sought out the origin of the roar.

He didn’t have to look far. Sitting in a chair beside his hospital bed was Derek, who looked equal parts furious and terrified. The sight of him startled Stiles. Shouldn’t he be with his sister right now, if he was done taking care of Ms. Blake’s body? What was he doing here with Stiles? He opened his mouth to ask, but Derek spoke before he could even decide how he wanted to phrase the question.

“Don’t you dare, Stiles. You can’t give up on us now.” Derek’s eyes were dark and fierce now that he was certain that he held Stiles’s full attention.

Stiles wanted to ask how Derek knew. He wanted to ask how he was supposed to do anything else. He wanted to ask a million different things, some vital, some completely insignificant, like what kind of product Derek used on his hair, which still looked perfectly styled after everything that had happened tonight.

Instead, what came out was a whimpered, “My _dad_ , Derek. My dad is-”

“Alive, Stiles,” Derek broke in, his voice kinder now. “Your father is alive. They took him into surgery right after the Scott brought you both here, and he’s still in surgery now, as far as I know, but he’s definitely still alive.”

Stiles wanted to believe him. He wanted it so badly that he could feel the desire like a vice around his heart. Even so, “His pulse, though. I couldn’t feel it.”

“Scott and Lydia figured that was what set you off,” Derek replied. “They said that by the time they caught up to you, you were completely insensible, and you kept screaming for your father to come back. He was still breathing shallowly, though, and his heart was still beating. Scott said it sounded pretty slow, which is probably why you couldn’t feel it.” 

“Oh,” was all that Stiles could say as a different sort of tightness gripped his chest. “Oh,” he said again, gasping and fighting against the gathering wetness in his eyes. His dad was still here. Stiles should be happy about it. He _was_ happy about it, but he was also completely exhausted and struggling with the residual fear of thinking his dad was dead, and everything about this night was too much for him to handle. 

A warm thumb rubbed across his cheekbone, and Stiles blinked through the slight blurry quality brought on by the tears which were apparently winning against his own desires. Derek pulled his hand back, placing it next to Stiles upon the hospital bed.

“Cora?” Stiles asked, because for some reason he could not accept the comfort gracefully. Granted, this was the first time he could remember Stiles being the one to receive comfort from Derek, since it was usually the other way around. Still. Tact. Stiles should get some.

“Right here, doofus.” Stiles jerked his eyes away from Derek to stare at Cora, who was standing at the foot of the bed, looking tired but otherwise in good health. She was even wearing her street clothes rather than a highly fashionable hospital gown similar to the one Stiles now sported.

He blinked hard and then raised the arm not stuck with an intravenous line - _ew_ \- to stare at her some more. “Exactly how are you here right now? Because the last time I checked, you were sicker than a dog.”

She rolled her eyes. “Cute. And we’re not sure, but right around the time you and Derek must have killed the druid chick, I started feeling better.”

It felt good to have some sort of puzzle to latch onto, and he did so gladly, his mind going off in a dozen directions at once. Scott had said that Ms. Blake was able to hit him hard enough that the force sent him flying across the room. And what were the odds that Cora would start feeling better right as Ms. Blake died? It seemed like too much to be a coincidence, especially with the way everything in the world of the supernatural always seemed so connected. 

Getting impatient, Cora snapped, “What?” dragging Stiles out of his own head.

“Well, it’s just, what if Ms. Blake was connected to you somehow? Like, what if she was drawing on your energy, on top of performing all the sacrifices, and that’s why you weren’t healing? Maybe she really _was_ the only one who could help you, but because she was the one making you sick in the first place.”

Cora looked startled, and then she shook her head. “Wow, Derek. You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

“Whoa, hey, come on. This was not his fault. And based on some things she said before she died, Derek didn’t pick her so much as she picked him. The only person you should be blaming any of this on is Ms. Blake.”

Giving Stiles a thoroughly unimpressed look, Cora said, “Look, whatever. I’m gonna go let the others know you’re awake.” She raised her hands when he opened his mouth. “And before you ask, the only reason they aren’t crowding the room right along with us is because they’re waiting near your dad’s room so they’ll know how he is when he comes out of surgery.”

She stalked out of the room, leaving the other two to stare after her. 

A few moments passed in a strangely comfortable silence, and then Stiles huffed a rueful laugh. “Your sister reminds me of you more and more every time I see her.”

Seriously? Derek’s expression asked, but Stiles wasn’t intimidated by his irritation in the slightest. The guy had wiped away Stiles’s _tears_. If that wasn’t an in indication of some sort of affection on Derek’s part, then - well, Stiles did not know what then, but he had a lot on his mind. He’d think of something suitably creative and bizarre later. Unbidden, Ms. Blake’s intention to tell Stiles “the truth” came back to him, and he tilted his head where it laid against the sadly flat hospital pillow, looking at Derek with fresh eyes.

“What?” Derek asked, wary now. Only fools felt calm in the face of that particular light in Stiles’s eyes, and Derek was many things, but he would like to think that he was not a fool.

Stiles smiled slowly. “You like me.”

“What are you talking about?” Shifting awkwardly, Derek scrunched up his face, trying to look thoroughly disapproving. Stiles wasn’t fooled.

“I’m talking about the fact that you _like me_. You sat with me while I was unconscious. You brought me out of a panic attack when I stopped fighting it, because you’d miss me if I was gone. You tried to make me feel better when I got upset. You. Like. Me.”

Derek opened his mouth, clearly about to deny it, but then stopped, thinking better of it. Ultimately, he rolled his eyes, much like his sister had earlier, and said, “Well, right now, I’m starting to seriously question why.”

“Oh, shut up and let me enjoy this,” Stiles ordered, only partially joking. “Do you know how often the people I like actually like me back? Never. That’s how often.”

Looking away from Stiles, Derek deliberated with himself. When he made a decision, he looked back. “Well,” he started, the hand which had been resting on the bed finding one of Stiles’s own, “not anymore.”

Stiles let out a sigh, content. 

His dad was the most stubborn man Stiles had ever met; if anyone could pull through, he would do it. Stiles had been so caught up in fear before that he’d lost sight of that. 

Cora was obviously doing fine if she could storm off in a Hale-ish fashion.

Derek had found out something horrible about Ms. Blake - a few horrible things, ultimately - and then lost her, but Stiles was there, holding his hand. They would almost certainly have a plethora of problems along the way, but laying there in that starchy, stiff hospital bed, Stiles found it hard to imagine anything that would make him let go.


End file.
